Chapter 5: Rest and Re-creation

Dean drops down on the bed, exhausted. He feels like he has run a marathon, even though he has been unconscious most of the day. According to Castiel, his head only exploded in pain for 5.4 seconds, but it felt like an eternity, and it drained everything out of him.

"Are you sure that you're alright?" Castiel asks, fidgeting next to the bed.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Do you always ask this much?"

"Yes." The honesty makes Dean smile. "If you allow it, that is. You are not the most forthcoming when it comes to sharing your thoughts and feelings. You consider it a feminine trait that you do not want to identify with."

Dean looks up at Castiel but finds no resentment. He is just stating facts without judgement. Maybe his honesty is not as desirable as Dean first thought. When Castiel doesn't say anything else or seems willing to move from his spot, Dean changes the subject. "You just gonna stand there all night, or are you gonna get some sleep?"

"Angels don't sleep." Castiel looks around the room before gesturing at the laptop. "I will call Sam and get a status update, and then try to research Mnemosyne. There must be a reason why she is taking people's memory."

Dean frowns at the ceiling as Castiel's words trigger a thought. "Except, she isn't." At Castiel's questioning look, Dean elaborates. "In the shop, Minnie said that if she had known that you were here, she would have come looking for you, and that she wouldn't call it stealing. If she could just take your memory, then why not take it in the shop? Why not just go through town, picking one head after the other, until she has what she wants?"

Castiel's eyes widen as he catches on to what Dean is saying. "You are suggesting that she needs some kind of consent to take people's memory? That could make sense. But how does she choose her victims?"

Dean drums his fingers on chest. "Don't know… Don't the victims have anything in common? People say that Johnathan Parker seemed distressed. Did I seem distressed?"

Castiel seems to ponder the question. "I wouldn't say distressed. You have seemed a bit… distant, I guess. Like you've had a lot on your mind."

Dean turns his head to look at Castiel instead of the ceiling. "So much on my mind that I would want to forget it?"

Castiel hesitates, avoiding Dean's eye, which is more unnerving than when he stares straight at him. "I don't… Dean, it's… It's complicated."

"You keep saying that! Complicated how?" Dean sits up on the bed, a rush of anger putting him on edge. "What happened to me, Cas? What did I do that was so bad that I would ask a freaking Goddess to take it away?"

Castiel puts up his hands up in a calming gesture. "You… You have always done what you have believed to be right. But when something goes wrong, you always blame yourself. Instead of acknowledging all the good that you have done, you carry the world on your shoulders. That is enough to make anyone want the relief of forgetting."

Dean looks away, anger giving way to shame. "Are you saying that I'm just that weak, that I just give up like that?"

"No, Dean. I'm saying that you are just that human…" Castiel sits down on the bed. "Everyone has done things they wish they could change or forget."

Dean grunts. "Even an Angel?"

Castiel smiles self-deprecatingly. "Yes, Dean. Even an Angel."

There is a long silent moment, filled by the unspoken question; 'What happened?' But Dean doesn't want to rip up any bad memories for Castiel.

"Get some sleep, Dean. I will try to find a way to help regain your memory."

-.-.-.-

Next time Dean wakes up is very similar to the first time he woke up in this bed. He didn't even get out of his clothes or under the sheets before he drifted off, but at some point, Castiel must have put a quilt over him. It's a much nicer gesture than being tied up like last time. It's nice and warm, and Dean just wants to bury himself in a quilt-cocoon, but he slowly becomes increasingly aware of his surroundings. He hears Castiel talking. He is keeping his voice down, so Dean can't quite hear what he is saying. It is just a deep, humming sound that pleasantly fills the room.

Curiosity gets the better of him, and Dean forces an eye open, just enough to see Castiel sitting by the laptop, one hand holding a phone to his ear, and the other typing one-fingered. He looks extremely focused, typing one letter carefully after the other. It must be early, because the sunlight has a red hue as it shines through the curtains, covering the room in a soft, flaming colour. Something about the light makes Castiel's features look softer, even when folded in deep concentration.

Dean gets that fluttery feeling in his stomach again. He might have a name for it, but he doesn't want to think too much about it. Castiel said they weren't like that, so he doesn't want to give himself any ideas. Dean just wishes he could remember more. He tries to force his head to remember the images from yesterday, and maybe a little bit more about when and why they were there, but it only makes his head hurt.

"Yes, we could try that." Dean half hears, half reads Castiel's lips as he studies his features.

"Try what?" Castiel looks up from the laptop when Dean speaks. Dean is a little surprised himself, not having planned to speak, too caught up in just watching.

"Dean is awake. I'll call you later." Castiel perks up and raises his voice. He doesn't even say goodbye before hanging up. "I was talking to Sam. He will try to look into your theory regarding if all victims have experienced something that they would want to forget. We also discussed manners in which we could try to retrieve your memory. There are a few spells that we could try, but they are designed to counter amnesia caused by magic. We are not sure how they could affect the powers of Mnemosyne."

"Okay, sounds bad. What else?" Dean rubs his eyes.

"We could try more traditional measures. Normally, amnesia would be treated with therapy, trying to lure out and deal with the lost memories, you might say."

Dean sits up in bed. "I like the sound of that much better. Give me a sec, and then let's try that."

Dean quickly disappears into the bathroom to take care of a few basic human needs. He doesn't think he takes long, but when he returns, Castiel has arranged the flowers he took yesterday from the bookshop in a bowl on the bed and is sitting cross-legged in front of it.

"Jeez, Castiel. What kind of therapy are you planning here?"

Apparently, Castiel doesn't catch on to Dean's teasing tone because he just calmly states. "Normally one would use occupational therapy to help an amnesia patient to better organise his memories. However, since your case is far from normal, I suggest we try to stimulate some common triggers for memories."

Dean walks closer to the bed, automatically mirroring Castiel's posture on the opposite site of the bowl, sitting crossed legged. "And we can't do that with the lights on?"

Castiel finally looks up from the flower-filled bowl. "In principle yes, but we should try to limit your sensory input in order to make it easier for you to focus. However, I felt like the flowers may be helpful due to their association with memory, and they seemed to have an effect yesterday."

Dean looks sceptically at the green/white/pink bundle in front of them. He can smell that same spice as yesterday – Rosemary. What the heck, if it works, that's just great, right? "Okay. So, how do we do this, doc?"

Castiel frowns at the nickname but chooses not to ask. "According to the internet, there are numerous things which makes a memory stand out, but especially emotion and significance seem to matter. An emotional event will be more dominant than a day where nothing happens. The same can be said for significance, and often those two are linked. I also read that it could be helpful to focus on one's senses instead of the memory itself and allow that to guide your memory. I think you have already tried that, for instance when you first saw the Impala and felt drawn to it. Something about the sight connected to your mind and the feelings you have for the car." Castiel takes a deep breath, and Dean can't help but mirroring it. Castiel asks him to close his eyes, and Dean reluctantly does so. It feels weird when he knows how intensely Castiel is watching him. "Think back to the bar yesterday. Think of the smells, the sounds. The smell of alcohol. The sound of people talking. George asking what you want. Try to see it clearly in your mind. Try to let it fill your mind, and let it guide you. We were there yesterday, but you were also there the day before. Something significant happened when you met Mnemosyne. Try to combine the image of her, with the sensory inputs from the bar."

Castiel speaks slowly, clearly and in that deep, deep voice that easily pulls Dean in. The smell of rosemary keeps him grounded even as he lets his mind wander. Dean does not remember if he has ever been hypnotised before, but he thinks this might be close to it. Castiel's voice allows him to relax and just follow the simple instructions. He sees the bar, the people they met yesterday, and then imagines Mnem-Memo-Minnie in that setting. Slowly the images seem to fade together and… She's… by the bar. But not right at the front. To the far side, almost hiding, but in plain sight. Dean's head slowly starts to hurt again, but he refuses to let go of the images as they start to unfold.

"Dean? Are you okay?" Castiel keeps his voice low, but it is edged with concern.

"It hurts, but… I think it's working…" Dean whispers. He loses the images as he concentrates to speak, but he quickly forces his way back to them, only to wince at the flash of pain.

Immediately he feels two gentle hands on the sides of his face. He feels that invisible wind pass through his head, relieving some of the pain. "Careful, Dean. Focus on the sensations, but carefully."

Dean takes a deep breath, breathing in the rosemary and something else, something calming. Castiel. Castiel is right there, in front of him. Dean can't help it. He leans forward, until his forehead meets Castiel's, and he feels completely surrounded by him.

And then the images start again.

She is at the bar. She is there when he comes in, watching at he speaks with George. For a while, they are just sending each other looks from one side to the other. Dean knows that he would normally take his chances when their eyes keep meeting, but… that is not what he wants. What he wants… is something that he can't admit to himself. If he keeps pushing down the thoughts, then he won't have to deal with them. He won't have to ruin everything. He already cares too much, which means he is already putting Castiel in unnecessary danger. He can't put him at any more risk than that.

He must have been lost in thought, because he doesn't register that a person has snuck up on him, until a small hand is gently laid on his arm. It takes all of his willpower not to draw his gun.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you." She smiles gently. She's truly beautiful, and everything that he would normally go for.

Dean coughs to give himself time to gather his thoughts. "No problem."

"You seem to have a lot on your mind?" She smiles.

Dean huffs a laugh. "Yeah, I guess you could say that."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not really." Not talk, not think, not anything.

"Do you want to forget about it?"

Dean looks up. Normally he would turn those words into a bad joke, but something about the way she says them makes him look up. She has a playful look on her face and raises an eyebrow suggestively. For some reason, he feels drawn to her. She is very attractive, but he usually has a bit more self-control than this. He doesn't want this, but… maybe it can keep the thoughts away, at least for the night. "Yeah, sure."

She reaches a hand forward, and he automatically takes it. "I'm Minnie."

"Dean." He doesn't know why he gives her his real name when he has just introduced himself as Phil to the bartender. Rookie mistake. Every instinct is telling him to turn around and get back to the motel. But that will just lead to a night in a lonely bed, listening to the soft breathing from the opposite side of the room. This might not be better, but it will be one more reason why he should just forget about everything; He's an asshole, and Castiel deserves so much better than that.

She leads him out the door by the hand, and around the building, down a small alley. Not exactly what he expected from such a nice-looking woman, but what the hell. Won't be the first time.

When they are out of sight, she turns towards him, and he forces a smile. Just focus on her and enjoy the ride. He can deal with his bad conscience later.

"Just relax." Minnie reaches forward with the hand not holding his and touches his temple. It is an odd, gentle gesture that makes Dean want to flinch, but something keeps him locked in place. For a long while, none of them move. She dances with her fingertips at his temple, caressing his skin, while looking into his eyes, almost as if she is trying to look behind them. Her smile turns predatory. "Oh my, Handsome. What a life you have lived."

"…what?" Dean can barely form the word. Everything feels heavy. The hairs at the back of his neck stands up. Something is wrong. Really, really wrong. But he can't shake the bubble of molasses he seems to be caught in.

"So many strong memories." She lifts her other hand to touch Dean's other temple as well, cradling his face with just her fingertips. "So much pain, so much guilt, so many, many emotions. It's… intoxicating." She laughs euphorically.

Dean finally catches up. This… She's… She's the monster. But Dean can't pull back. Even when his head starts hurting, all he manages to whisper is a small; "No… Don't…"

"Oh, yes. Let's take a little stroll down memory lane, shall we?"

She barely finishes the rhetorical question before memories start flashing in front of Dean's eyes.

His father handing him his baby brother, the smell of smoke heavy in the air. Sammy's bedroom window exploding. Being alone in a dark motel room, trying to comfort his brother, looking so tiny on the bed. The first time he felt the weight of a gun in his hands. His dad being late. Hunger. The first time his father killed in front of him, the body dropping heavy. Cold forests, counting the minutes until his dad would come pick him up again. I'm not scared, I'm not scared, I'm not scared. Bobby and Dad shouting at each other. Dad smelling of metal and alcohol. Dean taking the blame for Sammy breaking his arm. Better me than Sammy, better me than Sammy. Hunt after hunt. Bruise after bruise. Stitching wounds. His dad and Sammy getting in each other's faces time and time again. Sammy running off. More fighting. Stanford. Being alone, even when he is together with his dad. Dad disappearing. The guilt when he picks up Sam. Finding out about Sam's powers. Losing dad. Fighting with Sam. Selling his soul. The fear, the anxiety. Being ripped apart. Hell. So much Hell…

Despite the memories hitting him fast, every memory stands clear in his mind, every emotion feels fresh. Every mistake he has ever made, every fight he has ever had with dad and Sam. Every betrayal he has ever felt. Everyone he has gotten killed.

He wants to fall to his knees, overpowered by the emotions, but something keeps him standing, like a puppet held up by ten invisible strings at his temples. It's almost too much, but he fights. He screams in his head for her to get the hell out, his hand twitches to reach for his gun.

Everything hurts, but he can deal with pain.

"Oh, Handsome, you are delicious." She purrs before making a sound of surprise. "And now look at this. The bitter-sweet taste of unrequited love."

No.

No, no, no, no, no. Not this. This, this is something that no one is supposed to know. He barely knows it himself; he does not allow himself to know it.

Sitting on a bench, with Castiel confessing to him, trusting him. Castiel disobeying Heaven by telling him about how Archangels protect prophets. Castiel disobeying again to stop Lucifer, despite just having been punished severely. Castiel returning to life, saving them, again. Laughing with Castiel outside the brothel. Future-Castiel staying with Future-Dean, still trusting him.

It isn't love. But Dean doesn't trust easily, and at first, Castiel thought of Dean as nothing but a bug. And yet, within such short time, they had become brothers in arms.

Even when Castiel betrayed them in the name of Heavenly war, Dean forgave him. He fought his way to him in purgatory. He blamed himself for not saving Castiel.

Again, again and again they take different routes due to their different missions, but they always find their way back to each other. Castiel is always there when it really matters.

Castiel chooses Dean over the Angels. Castiel lets Dean beat him half to death. Castiel offers to go with him into death.

It isn't love. It can't be. He doesn't want it to be.

But there's the touches, the stares, the smiles, the healing. And when they all flash before him in just seconds, and he feels them all again… It's impossible to shut them down, to deny them, to close himself off to all the sensory inputs and all the little skips of his heart.

But he can't… Castiel doesn't… He can't know. Dean doesn't deserve…

He can't think straight. Everything keeps flashes through his mind, repeating itself, attacking him with emotion after emotion. And unlike the pain… this, he can't handle.

"Please…" Dean doesn't know where his voice comes from. The desperation is just too much, and it gives him the power to speak. To beg. "Stop it, please."

"You want it to stop, Handsome?" She asks smiling.

"Please…" Dean is crying and shaking with exhaustion.

"I can take it away." She offers. "I can take it all away. All the pain, all the grief, all the painful love. I can give you a new beginning. Do you want that, Handsome?"

"Yes…" Dean barely hears himself. His head hurts from the assault of memories, his jaw biting down so hard to stop himself from screaming.

"Oh, thank you, Handsome." She chuckles.

For a moment, the pain is worse. It is blinding, scorching, and he can't stop himself from screaming.

But just as quickly as the pain increased, it disappears, completely. For a second, everything is quiet, white, peaceful.

And then he loses consciousness.